Chapter 11 #2
“Of course,” I said. Twice now, he has asked to join you. That must mean something, right? I couldn’t deny that it was, at least, flattering. But why wasn’t I more excited by it?
The prince took the seat to my right. “I must confess,” he said, voice low as he leaned in close, “I am terrible at this kind of thing. I fear that any illusions you had of me being good at anything will be dashed when you witness my lack of artistic skill.”
I laughed as I took a brush to my sketch, filling in the background. “Trust me, I’ve witnessed plenty of my brother’s terrible drawings. Nothing can surprise me at this point. I’m sure you’re much better than you think.”
“I assure you, I am not. But in the spirit of the occasion, I shall at least try.” He peered over at my ornament. “And of course it would happen that you actually are an artist,” he said, putting his hand to his forehead in feigned shame.
I looked down at my work: A tiny rendering of the New York skyline at night, lights glittering. “I think ‘artist’ is a generous term, but thank you.” I glanced over to his ornament, which was currently a mess of blue paints. “Yours is…um…”
“A wreck?”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “Well…yes.”
Prince Oliver threw his head back, laughing earnestly. From two tables away, Renata’s head spun around like she was in The Exorcist, her eyes narrowing.
“What are you going for there?” I asked.
“I have no idea. I was just hoping if I put enough paint on it, something would magically appear.” It was his turn to blush.
“Okay, we can fix this,” I said, reaching across him and selecting a deep purple paint and grabbing the white that was in front of me. “Swirl in some of this purple with the blues. Then you can take some of this white and add some stars. Ta-da, it’ll be a night sky.”
Prince Oliver looked at me as if I had hung the real stars. “You are a genius,” he said, a smile filling his face. He added some of the purple paint to a tray, dipping his brush in. “So have you always been into art?” he asked, brows furrowed as he concentrated on his work.
I turned back to my ornament, filling in details with a liner brush.
“Yes and no. I loved drawing and painting as a kid but was way more focused on ice skating than anything. We couldn’t afford for me to be a part of the skating academy, so my mom—she owned a dance studio, and my dad was a mechanic—gave ballet lessons to all their top skaters in exchange for my lessons and ice time.
When my mom passed away, skating lessons weren’t really an option anymore, so I kind of channeled that energy into art instead.
” I took a deep breath. “My real love is art history, though, which is why I got my master’s degree in curatorial studies.
Except you probably already know a lot of this, I guess, since it’s got to be in the file they put together on me before I came here. ”
Prince Oliver paused, paintbrush in hand.
“Actually, I made a point not to read any of your files,” he admitted.
“I know that Sheffield compiled detailed information on everyone for security purposes, but I didn’t want to come into this experience with any preconceived notions.
I’d rather you tell me your story when you’re ready and comfortable. ”
I caught his gaze. “So, you probably didn’t know about my mom until this morning when that journalist—”
“No. No, I didn’t. And I’m sorry he did that to you. That wasn’t okay.” His eyes blazed. I was seeing that behind the calm, even-keeled exterior was a man who would fight like hell for the people he loved.
“Thank you for speaking up for me. I wasn’t prepared to talk about her to the press yet.”
“You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.
Some of those reporters are nothing but vultures dressed as human beings.
” He reached over, taking my hand in his.
“Please know that you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to share.
” He squeezed my fingers gently, then turned back to his ornament.
My heart warmed at his kindness. I resumed painting, working alongside him in companionable silence.
“It was cancer,” I said softly after a few moments. I kept my eyes glued to my work but felt him pause beside me. “Lymphoma. She died when I was fourteen.” My heart pounded. I so rarely talked about Mom that sharing even these small details felt monumental.
Prince Oliver took my hand once more. I liked the feeling of my hand in his, his palm smooth and his fingers strong. He looked into my eyes as he spoke. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It means so much that you trust me with that.”
This time, I squeezed his hand. Suddenly aware of the many sets of eyes around us, I pulled away, pointing at his ornament. “Look, you were really on a roll, but your stars are looking more like amoebas, Your Highness.”
The prince threw his brush down, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “Okay, I give up.”
I knew that we were always being watched, and I could feel the heavy heat of someone else staring at Prince Oliver and me.
I turned my head to find Knox watching us.
I locked eyes with him and gave a small smile.
As if it took a moment to register, he nodded a hello and then walked out of the room.
His vibe felt entirely off, far different from anything I’d felt from him thus far.
I pushed those thoughts to the back of my head when I heard Renata’s shrill voice asking someone to wait while she touched up her lipstick, followed by the snapping of cameras. I turned to see that Cordell was taking pictures of Renata and the cousins.
She really did know how to turn it on for the camera. The way her face went from absolute boredom to fun and friendly was honestly appalling. I had met my fair share of mean girls living in New York and just by being a woman, but Renata would give any of the Real Housewives a run for their money.
“Ollie! Hey, Ollie!” She waved to Prince Oliver, trying to get his attention.
He looked over to her and let out a long sigh.
“Cordell is taking pictures for social media. Come over here,” she said sashayed over to our side of the table. She looked down at his ornament and then back to him. “Oh my gosh, that is amazing!”
Liar, I thought.
Prince Oliver made eye contact with me, and we both laughed. I was glad to see that he also knew she was full of shit.
Renata’s eyes shot to us. “What?” I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but her voice managed to climb another decibel.
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Birdie, grab your ornament and come take a picture with us. We’ll all get in it.”
“Oh, um, Cordell only wanted you,” Renata said sweetly.
“Well, good thing I'm the prince and can decide what goes on the official palace social media accounts.” Though his expression was kind, his tone brooked no arguments.
She plastered on the fakest of fake smiles, pivoted, and moved back to her side of the table.
“Ready?” he asked.
We walked to the other side of the room and the entire group gathered around with their ornaments.
As Cordell arranged us, I peeked at everyone else’s pieces.
As I had suspected from their reactions earlier, Sabine and Cora’s ornaments demonstrated their comfort with art and painting: Sabine’s featured tiny snowdrop blooms, while Cora’s depicted a train car laden with presents.
Adelaide and Mel may not have had the same artistic talent as Cora and Sabine, but they had approached the activity with enthusiasm, adorning their wood rounds with a stack of books and a wreath, respectively.
Ginny, it appeared, had a good eye, but her string of lights was only half finished. I was unsure what Renata or Gemma’s ornaments were meant to be, but they made Prince Oliver look like Monet. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, I reminded myself, biting my tongue.
The camera lights flashed and by the time we were done taking pictures my face was hurting.
Before we were able to disperse, Cora gasped, and I heard what sounded like one of the ornaments hit the floor.
I craned my neck and spotted Cora’s empty hands, a wooden round face-down on the ground in front of her.
Her eyes welled with tears as she picked it up, the still-drying paint now smudged, the image smeared.
“Oh my God, Cora! So sorry, didn’t see you there,” Gemma said, her voice lacking in sincerity. “Did you ruin your painting? What a shame.” Beside her, Renata shook her head and tsked in fake sympathy.
Cora’s face was the shade of an heirloom tomato on a hot summer day. This poor girl. Gemma had been standing right next to her; there was no way she “hadn’t seen her” and had clearly sabotaged her beautiful piece out of jealousy.
I walked jauntily over to Cora and looped my arm through hers, pulling her over to the other side of the room.
“What are you doing?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“Come over here and sit with me, Cora.” I led her to where Prince Oliver and I had just been working.
“Is Prince Oliver staring at me? This is so embarrassing. Everyone is staring at me and whispering.”
“When I was in middle school, I think it was seventh grade, I was invited to my first boy-girl birthday party. I was so excited because my crush, Jake Goodwin, was going to be there and rumor had it that we were going to play spin the bottle.” I sat down at my station, taking Cora’s ruined ornament and grabbing a fresh paintbrush.
“Here. You can sit here, I think Prince Oliver is preoccupied with talking to Adelaide.” I pulled the chair out for Cora and continued my story as I worked.
“Sophie Gonzales’s mom was a huge health nut.
So, for Sophie's birthday, her mom made this healthy cake and used bananas instead of butter or oil or something.” I rolled my eyes.
“Problem is, I’m extremely allergic to bananas and I didn’t even think to ask, because honestly, who puts bananas in a birthday cake?
Well, we sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and then ate the cake.
I started to feel funny, but thought it was just my nerves because we were gathering around to start the game.
Next thing I know, I was throwing up and pooping my pants at the same time, right in front of Jake! It was so embarrassing.”
“Oh my gosh!” Cora gasped.
“Yeah. It’s hard to come back from that.
Especially in middle school. Just as it seemed as though everyone was about to move on to some other junior-high scandal, this other girl—Lulu Matheson—caught wind that Jake was going to ask me to the winter formal instead of her and started telling the story again, exaggerating it and making it worse with every retelling. ”
I inspected my work, mixing a bright shade of green to match one Cora had used.
“Ginny was clearly jealous that your ornament was so beautiful. And apparently, she and good ol’ Lulu have something in common: Not knowing how to attract a guy without tearing down another girl in the process.
” I handed the fixed ornament back to Cora.
Cora’s eyes again welled with tears, this time from gratitude. “Thank you, Birdie.” She shook her head. “Why would they come after me, though? I’ve done nothing to them.”
Sabine chimed in from down the table. “They’re mean girls, Cora. Haven’t you seen that movie? They live sad lives and want to make those around them miserable because they aren’t happy with themselves.”
“They seemed so nice when I first met them at the gala. When I was talking to Prince Oliver, they made it a point to tell him all about the bakery I work at and how nice it was that he invited me even though I’m from a lower house.”
“Oh, sweet little dove,” Mel said, patting Cora’s hand. “Welcome to the dog-eat-dog world that is inner court politics.”
“Dogs aren’t cannibals, are they? I thought they ate dog food?”
“Oh, honey.” Sabine pressed her fingertips into her forehead.
“Cora, what she means is that they weren’t being nice, they were trying to shame you for working at the bakery.
And they were trying to imply they pity you.
Which there is nothing to pity. You’re a beautiful woman.
And clearly a talented one, too.” I smiled at her, putting my arm around her in a side hug.
Well, I thought, there’s the drawback to being here. Catty women with their catty politics and mean-girl antics. People who made others feel little or less-than made my blood boil. I wouldn’t let them get away with that shit was while I was around.